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Blue Coat Gamble

By Neil Moran

When the wrong kind of cops raid a gambling joint, the odds
may not always ride with the blue coats

JUDSON JUDDERS moved among his guests, with the air of a man pleased with himself. It was a profitable business. Here in this house, in a side street off Fifth Avenue, he conducted a gambling house for the select few. People of means came to play the roulette wheel, or roll dice, or play cards. The large room, beautifully appointed, was filled with men and women in evening clothes.

But all was not to go well that night, though Judson Judders didn't know that. On the way to the club, at this very hour—it was eleven o'clock—six men rode in a car. They were dressed as policemen, with the exception of the driver, and carried night sticks and concealed guns.

Butch Brierly, their leader, had overheard the conversation of two men at a bar who had gone to the club. They had given its location, and had talked of the money won and lost, and of the women who wore necklaces and jewels. Butch had seen his chance to do something a little different.

So he had procured uniforms, night sticks, hats and shields, and had instructed his men.

"Now, remember," said Butch, looking out of the window, "everything must be done fast. Timson will run the car around to Fifth Avenue, park it, an...

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